A browser co-op horror — sensory bible
There are four of you. One of you doesn’t belong.
6741 is a house remembered wrong. Everything is human, but slightly off — geometry that almost makes sense, a friend who almost sounds right, a light that almost reaches the end of the hall. We build dread with darkness, silence, and sound, not gore or spectacle. If a single dim bulb and a creak in the next room can scare two people, we have succeeded. Every texture is dirty, every model is low, every frame looks like it was dubbed off a tape that has been watched too many times.
Five files. Each one is buildable: an artist, sound designer, or AI asset tool should be able to start producing from any page.
The visual identity of 6741, in one breath: low-poly bodies, low-res grime, near-total darkness, a single cone of light, and a picture that never quite holds still.
PS1-era survival horror filtered through a worn VHS tape. Hard, chunky geometry (300–1,500 tris a character). 128–256px point-filtered textures with visible seams. Affine texture wobble, vertex jitter, and per-frame dithering are features, not bugs — they read as memory degrading. The world is built from a small modular kit so it can be rearranged by the entity between nights.
We light almost nothing. The flashlight is the only reliable source. Black space is where the player’s imagination does our work for free.
Every face, room, and silhouette reads as human until you look twice. Wrongness lives in proportion and timing, not in obvious monsters.
Dither, grain, scanlines and slight chroma bleed sit over everything. The player should never fully trust what the screen shows them.
No clean surfaces. Stains, water damage, scratches and dust carry all the narrative we need — nobody has to read a note.
In the dark, silhouette and light-colour identify teammates and threats. If players can’t tell who’s who at 4 metres, the art has failed.
Long stretches of quiet, dim normality so the rare scare lands like a dropped plate. Spectacle spent constantly is spectacle wasted.
First-person, ~60° FOV, slight head-bob and breathing sway. Short far-clip hidden by fog so the world dissolves a few metres out. Subtle handheld drift even at rest — the picture is alive and nervous. Heavy depth fog, low-res post buffer (~0.7×) upscaled hard for crunch.
Analog, minimal, distressed. Monospaced, slightly misaligned, like a CRT security overlay. No glossy panels, no rounded cards, no glow buttons. Elements flicker, jitter and occasionally lie when fear is high. The HUD is diegetic dread, not a dashboard.
Photoreal characters · high-poly density · normal-mapped PBR sheen · clean modern UI · saturated rainbow lighting · god-rays and heavy volumetrics · bloom-heavy “pretty” horror · jump-scare spam · readable-in-daylight brightness · anything that says “AAA” instead of “found tape.”
Desaturated, cold, and dirty. Two warm signals only: the amber of your own flashlight, and the red of the entity. Saturation is otherwise kept on the floor.
RULE / 90% of every frame is VOID + SLATE + BONE. AMBER only where the player’s own light falls. RED is reserved for 6741, blood, and the skinwalker — never decorate with it. MOON leaks through windows; DREAD violet washes in only as fear rises.
Baked, dark, and cheap. One real-time light per player (the torch). Everything else is darkness, fog, and the occasional dying bulb.
Analog, minimal, distressed — a CRT security overlay scratched onto the corners of the screen. Below are the live component specs, rendered.
A short red bar, no number. At zero it doesn’t empty — it cracks. Downed state desaturates the whole screen to grey and pushes a hold-to-revive prompt only teammates can see above your body.
Amber→red bar that breathes. It is never precise; at high fear the bar twitches, the heartbeat thumps the screen edges, and other HUD elements start to flicker and lie.
Two key slots [A][B] and a medkit count. Filled = amber bracket, empty = ghost. No grid, no icons-as-buttons — just stamped monospace text in the corner.
Single line, bordered in entity-red, centre-bottom. “HOLD [E]” with a thin radial timer. The escape prompt is identical but flashes faster as the door countdown runs.
A scratched blueprint that fills in only rooms you’ve entered. Teammates are amber dots; the entity is a red dot that the map sometimes shows in the wrong place.
Main menu / lobby / character-select are full-screen CRT boot screens: misaligned mono type on black, a faint hum, a cursor blink. Chat is lower-left, fades after a few seconds, lowercase, intimate.